Midas
by Ninthbreaker
Summary: It is up to team BRKR-RWBY to eliminate the White Fang and prevent the death of democracy.


Among a stampede of paw prints were the ruins of a small hamlet. Twelve houses of rural homeliness (clinging to the outskirts of Vale) had stood hours earlier. Now the only thing visible was rubble. Crops had been overturned well before the harvest season could make use of them. Half-formed vegetables were withering on the disturbed soil. Blood stains were smeared in several places, like streaks of red tears. Bodies were strewn about, with weeping gashes disfiguring them. Among this scene of devastation, Ruby Rose walked with weapon in hand and fought back a powerful urge to cry, as well as an overwhelming compulsion to throw up.

_How could this have happened?_ Ruby thought, as she poked at the rubble with the barrel of her Crescent Rose. There had been no warning by lookouts, no build-up of aggression from Grimm, just instant carnage. Some of the debris fell away under her inspection to reveal the picture of a family. The glass was cracked, transforming the handful of smiling face to a thousand unrecognisable fractions. Bile rose further in Ruby's throat. Moving swiftly through the scene, drinking in the bitter black of her surroundings, Ruby noted that multiple types of Grimm had been involved. There were the tracks of boarbatusks, but also those of ursa and possibly even bigger species. It relieved her that she hadn't brought Zwei. She wasn't sure how he would handle it.

After documenting the devastation and categorising the carnage, Ruby flopped onto a section of mortar from which most of the devastation was obscured. A grim contemplation began to bite into her mind. Then, in the distance she saw Yang, bounding forward with the force from her Ember Celia. The ground shuddered as she landed. Yang scanned the scene, worry creasing her forehead. Upon seeing Ruby's palpable concern, her demeanour shifted. Eyes sparkling, Yang strolled forward and grabbed Ruby, holding her to her bosom.

'Oh, sis! This isn't the best, but most of the people got out alive! It's sad we couldn't get here sooner, but we'll get this fixed.'

As Ruby was alleviated from the crushing force of her sister's grasp, she disguised concern with a smile, saying: 'You're right, I'm sure there's something we can do to help.'

_Like what, _her mind retorted. _Rebuild houses? Plant crops? It won't help the ones who are gone. They needed us to be huntresses, ready to fight. If only we'd known sooner..._

At that point, the sound of argument announced the arrival of Blake and Weiss. Both were in a furiously animated debate that obscured their minds from the sobering surroundings.

'You don't need to categorise us,' Blake said, her voice deflating the atmosphere. 'Not everything needs a label!'

'That's not what I'm saying!' Weiss gesticulated wildly as if warding off Blake's anger. 'I'm just saying I don't see why you think it's offensive.'

'Really? No clue?' Blake shook her head and quickened her stride. 'I wouldn't expect any better from our little princess.'

She directed a curt nod to Ruby and Yang (oblivious or wilfully ignorant of their unnerved demeanour) before passing onward to inspect the derelict abodes. Weiss, looking redder then ever, approached Ruby and Yang. After a few seconds of silent indignation, she managed to explain the exchange that had taken place out of earshot.

'I just asked whether we should call her a cat Faunus and Sun a rat Faunus, seeing as their... oddities are so different. I didn't think it was offensive.'

Ruby and Yang glanced at each other. Blake's identity as a Faunus and Weiss's ignorance toward such had almost lost her to them. Many months had passed and bonds of blood and experience had drawn them together. Still, this topic was still a sore point.

'Weiss,' Ruby said, 'I think there's a reason Blake and Sun prefer _just_ Faunus. It's not nice to call someone an animal. Animals do _this_,' she swept her arm across the dystopian vista. This refreshed her horror, withdrawing her mind to a single point of guilt.

Weiss, not noticing Ruby's psychological absence, retaliated in a fluster. 'I'm not saying she's an animal! I just thought it would make it easier to...'

'Discriminate?' This solitary word cut through the air. Weiss forgot that the subject of discussion was extremely perceptive to sound. She tried to respond, but Blake started searching the ruins before words could be uttered.

'Just apologise later when she's cooled off,' Yang said, giving Weiss a friendly shove. 'She'll understand, you'll see. Just be like, "Oh Blake, I am so, so sorry for the nasty things I said" and you'll be good as gold. She might even let you talk to her by next week.'

Weiss assented to this and they joined the inspection. Blake had begun at the other end and Ruby had taken to sifting through the rubble to keep her mind busy. Damage was summarised, deaths were logged and tracks were identified. Boarbatusks, ursas, redhounds, slaughterpumas and even a king taijitu; this was entirely inexplicable, no hunter had recorded one closer than two miles from Vale. Ruby remained as impassable as she could through the remainder of the mission, hoping that her feelings would pass given time. A lot of time. They were finishing up when Weiss signalled frantically to the others. They gathered around her and she pointed to the forest that stood a short distance from the village. There was a Grimm. It was snuffling along the ground. Ruby raised her rifle and peered down the sight. It was of medium stature, with claws and sharp spikes along its back. And its mouth was smeared with blood.

Yang glanced at her sister. Ruby had started trembling, her arms shuddering with rage. Then tears started trickling down her cheeks. Yang heard the faintest of whispers: 'We could have saved them.' That was why she reached out to stop Ruby, to leave with her and tell her how it wasn't her fault. But in an imperceptible blur of motion, the rifle became a scythe and Ruby was accelerating away from them. Using the concussive force of her sniper, she sped toward the unwary creature. As she neared it, she repositioned the scythe and in a vicious, recoil-enhanced arc split the creature at its midriff. Red poured out from the dissipating corpse. Ruby crouched, Crescent Rose positioned perfectly across her back. Yang watched her sister and couldn't help wandering if the creature's blood had soiled Ruby's garb. Then Ruby's knees buckled and she collapsed upon the ground. WBY arrived at her side moments later. Yang stooped down and helped Ruby to her feet. Ruby didn't cry. She didn't wail. But all the way back to the capital, with a distant, hopeless look in her eyes, she mumbled the same thing over and over:

_We could have saved them, we could have saved them._

* * *

><p>'Given the circumstances, it was impossible to save them,' Bruges declared to Professor Port. After a second's thought, he added 'sir.' It was easy to forget the professor was his superior. Port was sitting at his desk, filing through the paperwork Bruges had presented as evidence. His immaculate moustache was unreadable.<p>

He looked up from the reports of team BRKR. 'Impossible, you say?' Bruges was pretty sure this was not a question.

He treated it as one, nonetheless. 'Yes, professor.' Bruges curled his toes as Port's gaze continued. 'When we arrived at the area in question, events were half an hour underway.' He had indicated this in his report. 'Given that we responded within fifteen minutes of being alerted, there was no possible way they could have been saved.'

_It's true,_ he thought, _a mathematical impossibility._ _I acted logically, responded as best as was possible in the circumstance and managed to make something out of the situations._ He would often tell himself this when he had "failed". _If you are logical, that's the best you can be... Still, it wasn't pleasant seeing what they had done to those Faunus._

Bruges Violet pushed a few straggling strands of black hair behind his ear. His inky boots were shining from the sunlight. His purple jacket hadn't a single crease. This was all quite calculated. He needed, as a huntsman, to appear smart and collected, so he spent a handful of minutes a week on his appearance (haircuts, however, took more time).

After pretending to scan his report again, Port said 'Your team was assigned this vital role, to protect our vulnerable citizens, because you were shown to have great ability in response, whether it be a fair maiden in need of rescue or a cowardly cur requiring a lesson.' Port locked eyelids with Bruges. 'But you could have saved these poor people if you had taken the initiative. That is something, Mr. Violet, you have never shown.'

Many experiences had told Bruges that now was not the time to explain how "initiative" is an abstract concept completely devoid of meaning. _If it can't be gauged in any way, how can they say you have it?_ Instead, he stayed silent as, at great and cumbersome length, Port reminisced about his own victories because of taking "initiative". However, after some incredibly lengthened, drawn-out, distended length of time, Port seemed to remember this was supposed to be a reprimand.

'We cannot,' he said, thumping the table, 'and will not risk the safety of the common man because you lack the foresight to rescue them from threat. Unless you get yourself together, my boy, your team will be replaced by one who show more promise. You are dismissed.'

Exiting the room, Bruges walked a measured length from the door then leant against the wall of the hall. He began to recount the events of the day, trying to make something out of it. They had received an alert of a gunfight in downtown Beacon. Racing across the city, they had arrived at the tail end of the fight. He had told his team to use non-lethal takedowns (always an issue when talking to Ran). They successfully incapacitated the whole death squad (ten unchecked xenophobes with various pistols and shotguns). Two were hospitalised, as they had found themselves on the wrong side of Ran's personality. The building had about thirty residents. They found seven hiding out of sight and three bleeding out on the floor. The rest were taken away to the mortuary.

_It is unfortunate,_ Bruges thought, _but the logic is we couldn't have done anymore than we did._ Telling himself this didn't stop his fist from clenching. Telling himself this didn't stop the anti-Faunus crime that the White Fang was creating. Telling himself this didn't bring them back from the dead. Bruges felt like letting out his frustration in the training room. But no. He needed a solution, not a childish outburst.

Walking back to his dorm, Bruges wondered what his team were thinking. They knew it must be serious. Bruges selected the information he was going to share outside their dorm door. Upon walking inside he was met with three entirely unique reactions. River Indigo was placid and did not seem to notice him, or anything for that matter. Kevin Tsuri looked at Bruges from his seat in the corner, where he had been wringing his hands. Ran Scarlet was standing by the window, a furious look in her eyes. This was not unusual.

'Well? What happened?' Ran took an impatient step forward. 'Did he throw things around? Beat you up? Am I the new team leader now? Can we finally call ourselves team ReBecKeR? Well, all the more glory for me, then! I bet you cried when he demoted you.'

Bruges considered whether he should correct her spelling of Rebecca or respond to the insult. A full five seconds elapsed before (after considering the diverse routes the conversation could take) he decided to respond with 'No.'

'So you're still our leader?'

'Yes. That won't be changing any time soon, though I'm glad you have _ambition_.' Bruges put considerable effort into conveying the opposite, rewarded with a flicker of shame from Ran. He continued, 'However, our roles as huntresses and huntsman might.'

Kevin's eyes danced from his hands to Bruges's with a joyful glimmer.

'You mean we might get moved to somewhere safe?' he said. 'Training? Archives? Kitchens? Then again, the kitchens are full of bacteria.' He shuddered at this and nervously straightened his green, leaf-shaped sleeves. Bruges knew Kevin could be competent, but didn't want to risk even the slightest scratch for worry of infection or death. However, Bruges had never seen him remove his weapons except for maintenance. It was an uncomforting contradiction.

'That's no good!' Ran shouted, jolting Bruges back to the present. 'How are we going to find glory in archives? We need to be on the battlefield. Leading the charge. Winning victories!' She became a furious whirlwind of red and black.

Bruges knew how to answer this. 'And why should we be the ones to win them if the people we are fighting to protect die?' His words cut through Ran's fervour. She looked dispirited for a second, but then launched into a verbal onslaught.

'Well, if we had a faster thinking leader,' (those lapses had become an everyday part of conversation) 'we wouldn't have been too late. We could have mobilised, put them on the ropes-'

'We could have done nothing.' Bruges did not want to entertain the possibility that his careful consideration caused all of this. The very idea riled him. 'Tell me, if we would have arrived 31 minutes late rather than 32 minutes late, would that recklessness have made a difference? No. There would be just as many funerals. More, if we weren't working together. Maybe me, maybe you.' Ran clenched her fist, but remained silent. 'If I can't figure out a different way, do you think you can?'

Bruges wasn't sure what would happen now. Ran was fond of challenging Bruges, but when he retorted... It seemed that she was reaching down to her side. Ran's fingertips brushed the haft her Hound. Bruges started to shift his hand to his back. His Resolution. Then Ran's arm dropped down. Kevin, who had seemed on the edge of a panic attack, let out a shuddering breath. At some point River had bowed her head, obscuring her features.

'I thought not. If I fail, then feel free to try on my boots.' The back of Bruges's head began to itch. 'I need some air.' He dragged his feet toward the door.

As Bruges went past, River grabbed his arm. She raised her head to say 'It's nothing to do with how quickly we move, Bruges. We're looking in the wrong direction. If we want to stop this hatred, we need to go to the source.' Bruges stared into her eyes for a moment. He found it unusual how they seemed to bore through his skull and continue three feet through the other side. These moments of interaction outside the training rooms and battlefield were rare and precious. Between them, Ran, Kevin and Bruges had an oddly limited narrative with River. Absence filled River's eyes once more and she said to the air, 'We don't have any peaches, do we?'

'I'll go get some.' Bruges said. It was rare that River would speak directly to him. Or anyone, for that matter. 'Besides, it's a little stifling in here. My mind needs space.' He walked out of the room. Ran stormed into her room, Kevin mulled over the benefits of bacterial infection against grievous bodily harm and River explored the cosmos of her psyche.

Walking through downtown Vale, Bruges tried to decide on the best course of action:

_White Fang equals Faunus disruption equals civil unrest equals instability equals the source(?) equals Grimm attacks force better than democracy the sourceWhiteFangteamissuesRanthesourcethesourcethe..._

After five minutes, Bruges was scratching his scalp. Nothing about the problem was simple. What reason would practically unaffected citizens choose to attack Faunus families? Why would the White Fang want the Faunus to attack humans? There seemed to be no profit from such senseless destruction. And if these crimes were connected, what impact would responding to them make? The attacks would continue. Bruges knew the strength and the weakness of his team. Measured, efficient reactions were simply putting out a candle in a forest fire. Their inability to deal with the wider issue was failing them. That left only one logical solution; adapt.

_To stop crime, unrest and violence, it must be destroyed at the source. We must disassemble the White Fang._

Bruges entered the market. He always enjoyed the fresh vibrancy and exotic colours of that place. The thousand unique stalls and cavalcade of individuals that plied trade there. It was one of few indulgences in his sparse spare moments. Though it appeared much less colourful that he remembered it being. Less stalls, less variety and an overall gloom that enwrapped the place uncomfortably. He saw a fruit stall and selected some peaches. Carefully wrapping them in a paper bag, he handed them to a man with bright red hair and a sullen face.

'That'll be fifty, pal.' The number took Bruges aback.

'You must be mistaken. That's at least five times what I paid last week.'

'Didn't 'cha hear? Money's next to worthless; the market's been flooded and now these peaches are worth fifty. Why d'you think no one's here? So, fifty or the watch.' He pointed to Bruges' arm where a sleek silver timepiece rested. Bruges handed over the money and left before something could be made of it. Another note came into this issue.

Hyper inflation.

This had happened during The War. It only got worse as time went on – hour by hour, day by day – money became more and more meaningless. Then people begin to question authority. Questions turned to panic and panic turned to violence. Bruges hurried back to the dorm.

_There's no choice. The White Fang must be behind this. The White Fang are causing unrest. We must end the White Fang._

* * *

><p>Roman Torchwick stormed through grey, featureless corridors that formed an irritating numbness in his mind. He was on his way to another pointless meeting. He was the almighty master of the largest syndicate and rebel group in Vale; you would think he'd have enough on his plate. But <strong>she<strong>wouldn't allow that, now, would she?

_Well, I'll keep running to her heels like a good dog. Bark for a bone, wag my tail, look utterly adorable. Soon, I'll have enough dust, soldiers and weapons to blow her pretty little gang into ash. And with my latest addition..._

Roman rubbed his hands together, producing a sound not dissimilar to snake slithing over dry leaves. Disruption had been the principle mission of the White Fang ever since Cinder had acquired them, but he knew there was more to war than little victories on the field. Chaos was a complex thing and existed in all vestiges.

Straightening his collar, he entered the armament bay of one of the White Fang's main bases; Fort Capricorn. There were several bases operated incognito around the outskirts of Vale. Huge underground fortresses of concrete and steel that sprawled outwards into the city and the forests edging it. It was a prolonged journey by vehicle and unrelenting tunnels that meandered endlessly toward Cinder's infuriating "meetings". After perusing the shadows, he noticed a faint glimmer in the distance. Cinder glided from the shadows, toying with a small fireball. She seemed to do this habitually and Torchwick had thought of asking if it was a more physical incarnation of her massive balls. He never did.

_Good dog,_ he thought,_ bark when told._

'Well, well, well, we appear to be meeting in a local spot for a change. But I can't help thinking if I don't escape death at least once on the way to our little chats, life just isn't that exciting.' Torchwick gave a slight bow, arms splayed in courtesy. 'It only took me two hours through tunnels and alleys and I didn't even have to fend off a pack of Grimm.'

'Oh Roman,' Cinder ceased the blaze in her hand, 'It wouldn't be a secret meeting if it was easy to get to. Anyone could walk in and break our privacy. But seeing how you are eager to get back to work, shall we not waste time fretting over the details? Tell me what you've been up to.' She sat down on a crate of Dust in perfect neatness.

Roman knew this would take as long as she decided, so he began talking.

'We're still stealing every speck of dust that comes within an inch of Vale. We've got our hands on more military grade weapons and armour. Grimm are still interfering with us at every turn, but the worst are the Hunters. We've had three raids in the last week and one of the little ducks might guess what we're actually up to. Oh, and on top of that there was a massacre this morning that saw Faunus citizens in outrage.'

Cinder smiled. 'And did our plan work?'

Torchwick shrugged, harbouring some doubt about the necessity of slaughter. He was all for violence and intimidation, but clear cut murder? A shiver of repulsion ran through his body. 'We've had a swarm of bushy-tailed, floppy-eared recruits swearing revenge, but who would've thought it, some of our boys aren't too happy about their little cousins being blown into little pieces. They're saying that we're not doing enough to protect the civvies.'

'Don't worry about that, Roman. They'll come around. They always have.'

'Well, don't you think we're pushing them just a mite too far?'

Cinder glared at Torchwick. 'You shouldn't be worried about that, Roman.' She said, conjuring another fireball. 'I told you that they will come around. You're not doubting me, are you? Or, do you doubt _this_.' Her other hand indicated the weapons and ammunition and armour that was stacked around them.

Torchwick smiled. _I've gone too far. Need to shut this big mouth of mine. Good boy._

'There isn't a doubt in my mind over all of _this_.' He made a dramatic sweep over the surrounding industry. 'If you say they'll come around, they'll come around. Shall we get back to our little chit chat?'

Cinder gave the slightest of nods, upon which Roman breathed out.

'Well,' he said, knowing that his following statement would clear the air, 'in the last few days I managed to acquire a little toy that's made a big difference to our... cause. I know you've seen the reports from Vale. The gold standard's been completely ruined. Doesn't seem like much, does it? But if you think that the less gold's worth, the less money's worth...'

'...the more people panic when they realise they can't afford a loaf of bread.' Cinder smiled. 'It happened in The War. Brother fighting brother, humanity at war, chaos. Whoever's done this has made things ten times easier.'

Torchwick gave Cinder a look. Her eyes widened and she clutched the sides of the crate for support.

'You?' She composed herself almost instantaneously. 'How? When?'

'Three days ago. Midas.' Torchwick could see he had the floor. 'You see, I realised that our little dust distribution debacle would only take us so far. That hurt the big men, sure, but the itty bitty people were really what we needed. A friend of mine who transported rare goods had found a particular specimen he knew I would be interested in. When I saw the little runt... skinny as a stick, dirt-streaked, a really scummy brat. But when he did what he does. Well. I think you need to see for yourself.' Torchwick indicated toward the corridor he had entered from. Cinder vacated her seat and followed him down the corridor.

_Good girl. Follow._

Inside a small storage room a workshop had been set up. A machine of steel with glowing valves was on one side, in the centre a worktable with lumps of something dull grey on top. To the right was a shining beacon of wealth that glittered with an inner brilliance only the purest gold could muster. At the worktable was a young man, his blonde hair pushed behind his ears and flowing to his shoulders. He wore a white shirt faded brown trousers. His feet were bare and filthy. Torchwick entered first, followed by Cinder.

'Mr Torchwick, you're back!' The boy ran forward, then remembering himself stopped a short distance from Torchwick, bowing. 'Thank you for coming back here, I thought I was alone again.'

Torchwick raised him to his feet, patted him on the shoulder and said 'Why'd you think that, my boy? Of course I was coming back.'

'I just thought, well, the nightmares would come back. But now your here and I'm safe, right?'

Torchwick smiled with meaningless abandon. 'That's right, my boy, you're safe as long as Uncle Roman's at your side. Now, I need you to show my friend here what you do.' He further whispered 'Remember your manners with her, okay?'

Midas seemed to notice Cinder for the first time. He took a measured step forward, extended his hand and said 'Hello, my name is Midas. Very nice to meet you.' He moved back over to his workstation with a brisk step.

_He's afraid of her,_ Torchwick thought. _Smart boy._

Midas took a small lump of grey metal and placed it directly in front of him. He put his hand on one of the valves (which were now recognisable as handles) of the machine and gripped tight. He put his other over the matter.

Cinder folded her arms and said 'What's the machine?' Torchwick knew Cinder despised him managing to surprise her like this. It dripped through her voice. 'And what's that stuff he's using?'

'That's a piece of tech we took from a military cargo train last week.' Torchwick took a small step back from Midas as the machine began to hum. 'It amplifies a person's semblance. That stuff's lead. His ability works with any mineral, but... well, it's poetic, isn't it?'

Midas hunched over and tensed the muscles in his arm. A wave of power surged through the air as he lowered his hand, down, down, down. Then _tap_. Lead became gold.

Midas collapsed to the floor, his breathing laboured. There was a slight sheen to his skin. Torchwick assisted him to the table top and held his shoulder. 'You did good, my boy, another piece of pure art.'

Cinder stepped forward to see the shining gold nugget that was sitting in the middle of the table. She picked it up. It was heavy, it was bright and most importantly it was real.

'And can he do that to anything bigger?' Torchwick let go of Midas and sauntered over to Cinder's ear. 'The boy's a one size fits all gold mine. It'll take him the same for a pebble or a table. We've got proof back at base Libra. With this, we control money. We control everyth-'

A roar ripped through the air, cutting Torchwick off. The staccato sound of gunshots, followed by an unnervingly wet _crunch_. Silence tore at his eardrums. Torchwick had ducked down low. Cinder has sunk into the shadows. Midas was curled up underneath the table, shaking. There were heavy footsteps outside the door. More gunshots. More sickening sounds. Then the creature was snuffling, searching for something. It stopped outside the door.

_Stay still,_ Torchwick told himself, _no movements, no noise. Have the sense to make this someone else's problem. Adam will deal with it._ Then Midas whimpered.

The snuffling was replaced with a primal howl which penetrated Torchwick's ears and left him sprawled out on the floor. Three ivory claws rent their way through the door and then a paw forced the crumpled hulk off of its hinges. Clambering in after it was an eight foot beowolf with dripping jaws and incandescent eyes.

Cinder pounced from the shadows, sending a jet of flame. The creature flattened against the ground then launched itself forward. Before she could react, Cinder was caught in her midriff, sending her flying across the room. She hit the wall with a dull _thud_. The Grimm remained motionless, waiting to see if its prey would try to get back up. When it didn't, its bestial snout turned to Torchwick.

There were many things that Roman Torchwick could have done. He could have got to his feet and fought. He could have raised Melodic Cudgel (which he had cunningly concealed about his person) and shot the creature. He could have signalled Cinder to stop playing dead and attack. He could have signalled Adam. He could have run. He could have hid. What Roman Torchwick chose to do was close his eyes and put his arms over his face. The Grimm saw his fear and pounced.

For a few seconds, Torchwick was silent. He did not move and did not breathe. He waited, waited, waited for a thousand painful milliseconds. When nothing occurred, he opened his eyes. In front of him was Midas, arm outstretched and slightly glowing. In front of Midas was a golden monument to ferocity.

Then Midas fell, the energy sapped from his limbs. He tumbled to the ground and lay there shivering. Torchwick crawled over to him and prodded him on the shoulder.

'It's okay now, kiddo. You saved us.'

Midas turned to show his streaming tears.

'Not it isn't. I felt it die. I didn't want to kill it and it didn't want to be killed. I felt its soul wither in my hand! Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you protect me?' He burst into sobs.

Torchwick said nothing.


End file.
